Fair with garlands all addrest, (Was never Nymph more fairly blest!) Blessèd in the highest degree, (So may she ever blessèd be!) Came to this fountain near, With such a smiling cheer! Such a face, Such a grace! Happy, happy eyes, that see Such a heavenly sight as She!
Then I forthwith took my pipe, Which I all fair and clean did wipe, And upon a heavenly ground, All in the grace of beauty found, Play'd this roundelay: "Welcome, fair Queen of May! Sing, sweet air! Welcome, Fair! Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen, The glory of all our green!"
From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse, &c._, 1614.
By the moon we sport and play, With the night begins our day: As we frisk the dew doth fall; Trip it, little urchins all! Lightly as the little bee, Two by two, and three by three; And about, about go we.
Round about in a fair ring-a, Thus we dance and thus we sing-a; Trip and go, to and fro, Over this green-a; All about, in and out, Over this green-a.
THE COURTIER'S GOOD MORROW TO HIS MISTRESS.
Canst thou love and lie alone? Love is so disgracèd, Pleasure is best Wherein is rest In a heart embracèd. Rise, rise, rise! Daylight do not burn out; Bells do ring and birds do sing, Only I that mourn out.
Morning-star doth now appear, Wind is hushed and sky is clear; Come, come away, come, come away! Canst thou love and burn out day? Rise, rise, rise! Daylight do not burn out; Bells do ring [and] birds do sing, Only I that mourn out.
From ROBERT DOWLAND's _Musical Banquet_, 1610. (Lines by the Earl of Essex.)
Change thy mind since she doth change, Let not fancy still abuse thee, Thy untruth cannot seem strange When her falsehood doth excuse thee: Love is dead and thou art free, She doth live but dead to thee.
Whilst she loved thee best a while, See how she hath still delayed thee: Using shows for to beguile, Those vain hopes that have deceived thee: Now thou seest, although too late, Love loves truth which women hate.
Love no more since she is gone, She is gone and loves another: Being once deceived by one, Leave her love but love none other. She was false, bid her adieu, She was best but yet untrue.
Love, farewell, more dear to me Than my life, which thou preservest. Life, all joys are gone from thee; Others have what thou deservest. Oh my death doth spring from hence, I must die for her offence.